And all the Others
by sodalite
Summary: Miscellaneous short fiction.
1. The only one he ever feared

**And all the others.**

**Miscellaneous short fiction.**

The only one he ever feared.  


A little boy stood gazing out of the window into the star strewn sky. His nose was pressed up against the glass and his blue eyes scanned every visible inch of the sky. He knew that time was running out, he had to receive his letter by tomorrow night, before it was too late. If he didn't, he would be just like his elder brother. His mother would be so disappointed if that happened, having two children who couldn't so much as wave a magic wand properly. His father, Brian, was a muggle so he hadn't been completely shocked when Aberforth hadn't received a letter. But Albus, on the other hand, needed to get into Hogwarts. He knew that he mustn't turn out like his brother, so bitter and uncaring.

The grandfather clock in the hallway began chiming, marking the hour. Albus began counting under his breath.

"One… two… three… four."

The house was again in silence. Four o'clock in the morning, if that owl didn't arrive today, that would be that. He would be officially a squib, a muggle. As he turned his face towards the inside of his bedroom, the light from a lonely streetlamp outside illuminated his shoulder-length auburn hair, the only thing he would inherit from his mother, for Albus felt that he would not inherit her powerful magical abilities.

Albus flicked his eyes over the contents of his room. A broomstick was propped in the corner next to the bed and his snowy owl, Rowena was perched on the headboard, her amber eyes watching him sadly. The empty birdcage stood on the shelves. He had not named his owl Rowena; it had been Aberforth who had done that, for she had once belonged to him. Though it was shut, he knew his wardrobe housed a number of robes in various colours; as well the muggle clothing he usually wore. His bookshelf was home to his most prized possessions; titles like A History of Magic, Edition one and The Muggle World, a comprehensive guidebook.  
Albus turned back to the window hoping against all hope and fate to see an owl swooping towards him, a letter tied neatly to its leg. He remembered a time when Aberforth's bedroom had looked just like his, full of magical treasures. When it was realised that Aberforth was a squib, anything magical that he owned was either sold or destroyed, and his owl was given to Albus. He wondered what would happen to Rowena if he didn't get into Hogwarts. He didn't want to think about it.

The sky was beginning to glow faintly red. He had been standing there all night, staring at the sky, watching and waiting. He knew that it was likely he would never become a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He had never, as far as he could recall, performed any accidental magic.  
The clock in the hallway began chiming again. Six o'clock. Funny, Albus thought as the pendulum swung for the sixth time, he hadn't heard it chime five. There was no point staying there, the rest of the house would be up soon and he would have to go downstairs then, anyway. Silently, as though walking on air,  
Albus padded downstairs, resigned to his fate as a lowly, worthless muggle.

He did not see the beautiful tawny owl that landed on his window ledge as he left his bedroom, did not know that it was carrying his acceptance letter from the school he most longed to be in. It was not until later that night when he saw the owl, opened his letter and ran joyfully down the stairs like a child on Christmas morning. For that was all he had once been, just a lonely, desperate child.


	2. Deceptive Insanity

**And all the others.**

**Miscellaneous short fiction.**

Deceptive Insanity

She fell, cursing, and scrambled somewhat frenetically to her feet, having no desire to be trapped in a moment of weakness. A fine ending that would make - murdered because she tripped over a step and could not adequately defend herself. She had promised him – a foolish promise she realised now, but a promise nonetheless.

They had sworn to survive.

She hadn't laid eyes on him since he had led them so courageously into battle. His fear masked well behind his unfaltering stance.

_I am proud of you, Harry,_ she thought, suddenly, as she found she was unable to connect the man who stood at the helm of the Order with the one she knew and loved so intently. She knew, though, that they were the same man, a thought that elicited a soft smile from her parched lips.

Her back was against the solid stone wall, a safe position, she decided, unless the building decided it was appropriate to crumble.

A window shattered, somewhere high above her, a heavy figure landed with a dull, sickening thud barely three paces to her left, amidst a cascade of sharp, glistening rain.

Another figure, battered and torn emerged, staggering through an archway opposite her inadequate refuge.

"Harry!" he turned, meeting her own unsteady gaze with an expression so intensely bemusing that she found herself admiring the paving stones.

She looked up again, quite rapidly upon realising that they were stained with the remnants of human flesh and blood.

It was strange, but she thought she could hear music, in the very depths of her exhausted and murky soul, it was playing a sinisterly epic soundtrack to the battle. Such intensity, such exhilaration, and suddenly she found she could look upon the writhing mass of warring beings and truly say she was unafraid. Were it not a war she was fighting, she would be tempted to dance and weep in circles for hours on end. Until, she thought, the ending of the world in a crashing haze of... something. Perhaps this music was the end, and if it was, she hoped it was a good ending.

There had once been a time when she hadn't believed in endings. In truth she had been afraid of the finite.

She wondered if she was insane. She had asked Harry that same question once.  
_  
"Am I mad, Harry?"_

"Of course not," he had answered, looking at her strangely. She remembered his look because it had made her nervous. She had run a finger idly over her lips, causing him to reach out a hand and take it in his own, as he frequently did._  
"People say I am."_

"Perhaps they are mad."

"Don't avoid the subject."

"Then yes," he had said, _"You are mad. Perfectly, beautifully, deceptively mad."_

"Deceptively Insane?"

"Yes." 

She still didn't know what he had meant by that. She would have to ask him later. For now, it did not matter.

"I love you!" She called, prancing forwards, wielding her wand as though it were a shining blade, cutting down all who fell in its deadly path.


End file.
